


birdhunt 2k20

by bysine



Series: odd couple buddies [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comedy, Friendship, Gen, Road Trips, Sam Wilson-centric, bird trip of justice, not an au, odd couple buddy tragicomedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bysine/pseuds/bysine
Summary: Thor is still standing there, beaming expectantly at Sam. “What say you, Son of Wil?” he booms, like he's Aragorn recruiting that ghost army from the Return of the King, except that Thor is just trying to recruit one dude who can maybe talk to birds. (Again: nobody is supposed to know this.) Also Thor’s wearing a baby blue North Face puffer jacket and a woolly reindeer-covered hat that Sam is fifty percent sure was knitted by Vision, so the resemblance to Aragorn is really only a passing one.“You want me to do what where again?”“I wish for you to join me,” says Thor, with patient magnanimity. “Huginn and Muninn have been missing since the destruction of Asgard. Now that my people have secured a home here on Earth, I wish to find them.”(The other summary for this fic is: "oh, SAM")





	birdhunt 2k20

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: this was written before Black Panther was released so all references to Wakanda and Black Panther are heavily based on the current Black Panther series by Ta-Nehisi Coates (inadvertent spoilers for the comics)

The birds go quiet in the rain, more concerned with keeping still and warm than speaking with inquisitive strangers. Which is how Sam finds himself standing in a Pahang rainforest during a tropical storm, watching Thor drop to his knees in the undergrowth to bellow, “Father, have I made a mistake?” at the heavens. 

Sam wipes rain out of his eyes for the tenth time that minute and picks his way over to Thor, ignoring the crunching sounds his large yellow rain poncho is making. He pats Thor on his poncho-ed shoulder. “Hey, man, it’s okay.”

Thunder rolls overhead. Thor heaves a great, wet sigh. “I hate this blasted rain.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” says Sam, grabbing hold of Thor’s arm to help him climb to his feet. “Want to head back to the guesthouse and try again later?”

“You are a true friend, Son of Wil,” says Thor, clapping Sam heartily on the back and dislodging the hood of Sam’s poncho in the process. Sam tugs the hood back on and they stand there for a moment, regarding each other solemnly. Sam’s not entirely sure if Thor is crying manly tears or if that’s just rain streaming down his face. He decides not to ask. 

\---

This is how it began: an impossibly-muscled blond superhero shows up distressed on Sam’s doorstep and asks for his help. 

“I hear you are able to speak the language of birds,” says Thor.

 _Shit_ , Sam thinks. “Says who?”

“I have been searching for my father's ravens,” says Thor. “Stephen Strange said I should invite you along on my quest.”

And honestly, fuck Stephen Strange for giving away secrets he shouldn't even know in the first place, because Sam has been careful about not advertising the talking to birds thing from since before he even joined the Air Force. 

Thor is still standing there, beaming expectantly at Sam. “What say you, Son of Wil?” he booms, like he's Aragorn recruiting that ghost army from the Return of the King, except that Thor is just trying to recruit one dude who can maybe talk to birds. (Again: _nobody_ is supposed to know this.) Also Thor’s wearing a baby blue North Face puffer jacket and a woolly reindeer-covered hat that Sam is fifty percent sure was knitted by Vision, so the resemblance to Aragorn is really only a passing one.

“You want me to do what where again?”

“I wish for you to join me,” says Thor, with patient magnanimity. “Huginn and Muninn have been missing since the destruction of Asgard. Now that my people have secured a home here on Earth, I wish to find them.”

“Uh.”

“My quest would be greatly aided if you could consult your avian friends as to the ravens’ whereabouts,” Thor continues. “Heimdall informs me they are on Earth, but alas he cannot contact them, nor tell me their exact location.”

“So you want me to come with you-”

“Yes.”

“As you chase down two birds-"

“Huginn and Muninn.”

“Who could be anywhere in the world.”

“Probably Norway,” Thor says brightly. “But they may have flown somewhere else, as birds are wont to do.”

Sam is, by now, old hat at the business of haring off in search of an elusive friend of a friend (except: can two birds be counted as your friends?). Maybe Thor will have better taste in car music and airport snacks than Steve. 

He can't believe he's actually considering this. 

“I have a job,” he begins. It comes out half hearted because this argument has worked on exactly zero people this decade - not Steve Rogers, not Bucky Barnes; not even the AI Tony Stark put in Peter Parker’s suit.

Thor’s face falls a little, to his credit, and Sam figures that maybe Pepper Potts’ seminar series on Living On Midgard In The 21st Century has done its job in explaining foundational principles such as ‘I need to show up to work so I don't get fired’ and ‘my mortgage is not going to repay itself’. Then Sam’s phone buzzes in his hand, and when he glances at the screen he sees it's a message from Steve: _Hi Sam, I was wondering if we could talk-_

“Fuck it,” says Sam, shoving the phone into his pocket and scrubbing a hand over his face. “How long will it take and when do we leave?”

\------

**LOFOTEN ISLANDS**

The ravens are not in Norway. It takes them a train journey from Oslo, a bus ride, and two hours of hiking to determine this.

“I must say it was much easier coming by portal,” says Thor when they reach the top of the cliff on the Lofoten Islands. He's hardly broken a sweat. 

“Sure,” grunts Sam, who in the meantime has a low-grade headache from the flight which has been only a little bit soothed by copious amounts of coffee. 

Thor spreads his arms. “This is where Father died. He turned into an eddy of golden dust and floated off from this very cliff to Valhalla.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” says Sam. “Sounds like a beautiful way to go, at the very least.”

“It was,” Thor agrees. “Except for the part where his death allowed my sister Hela to be set loose, inadvertently causing the destruction of Asgard. Among other things.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, so that sucked, as you say here on Earth.” Thor sits down on a rock overlooking the sea and gestures at Sam. “Please, go on. Do not let me distract you from your work.”

Sam sighs, and tries not to feel like an idiot as he walks towards a scattering of puffins. They hop away immediately. Sam darts a glance back at Thor, but finds him casting around in the grass for something instead.

He messes up the greeting twice before he manages to speak with a trio of kittiwakes. It's been years since he's talked to any bird, let alone sea birds, and it's difficult at first to dredge up the sequence of _warm current cool wind fish in beak flock_ that he once learned during a childhood trip to Coney Island. The kittiwakes sing in amusement when Sam gets it right, and then in delight when Sam sends them something of his own memory, of spinning and soaring through the sky. 

When they are sufficiently attentive Sam strokes a finger along the head of one of the braver kittiwakes, and gently asks: _ravens memory thought odin_ ; thinks of the Asgardian ship landing in Oklahoma, of the lightning dancing through Thor’s fingers in Doomstadt.

 _Ravens_ , the kittiwake agrees, and then Sam is the kittiwake, following at a distance as a pair of large - too large - ravens wing their way west. 

“Iceland,” Sam tells Thor, after he has thanked the birds. “They went to Iceland.”

Thor beams up at Sam from where he is crouched in the grass and holds up a ziplock bag that Sam had previously been using to store a packed sandwich. “I have found the shards of Mjolnir, friend!”

“If those shards are as heavy as I think they are,” Sam says, “you're going to have some problems with check-in baggage.”

\---

“So imagine my surprise when I swing by the VA at a quarter to six only to discover that you’ve taken a leave of absence.”

Bucky has waited till two in the morning, Norway time, to call Sam. It's definitely deliberate. 

“I sent you a text,” Sam replies, resting the phone on the side of his face so he can continue to lie in a fetal position on the too-soft motel bed and attempt to fool his body into thinking he's still asleep.

“My phone was smashed,” Bucky counters, “by Peter’s murderous professor while all of you were off in Latveria.”

“Oh.” He remembers, now, that they had made arrangements to get Bucky a replacement one.

“Yeah,” Bucky continues, “‘oh’. Have you ever been phone shopping with Steve?”

“You asked _Steve_?” Sam can already imagine it - the having to steer Steve away from the flip phones; the endless remarks about everything being expensive; the general diffuse paranoia about _how secure can a phone be, anyway_. “I'm so sorry, man.”

“Well, you ran off on a mysterious errand with the _other_ hundred-year-old Avenger, so what's a fella to do?”

“I'm pretty sure he's more than a hundred,” says Sam. “So did you get a phone in the end?”

“I'm calling you with it,” says Bucky. “When can we expect you back?”

“No idea,” Sam replies, and tries not to feel guilty. “Maybe in a couple of months.”

“This is about Steve, isn't it?”

Sam sighs. “He said something?”

“No, but his face did that scrunched up thing it does when I mentioned you.”

 _Think about it_ , Steve had said, after springing the question onto Sam in the middle of the firefight in Doomstadt. _I think you’re the best person to take up the shield._

 _Are we seriously talking about this now_ , Sam had replied, executing a triple roll midair to get two Doombots off his back.

 _I was just, you know_ \- and Steve had straight up punched a Doombot in the face here - _thinking of succession planning._

“Well, whatever it is,” says Bucky, sounding suspiciously like he knows exactly what's going on, “take your time to figure it out.”

“Yeah, I will.” Between cajoling birds and wrangling the GPS, that is.

“And just so you know, pal, I'm finishing season four of Person of Interest without you.”

 

**SELFOSS**

In Iceland Sam finds a great skua who has observed the ravens heading south. 

“As long as it's somewhere warm, I'm not complaining,” says Sam, poking at his phone to find flights to Morocco. “What do you think they're doing anyway?”

“Father’s ravens were always a mystery to me,” says Thor. “They only ever reported to him. When I was a boy they used to swoop over the banquet table and tear strips of bilgesnipe flank off my plate when I wasn't looking.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” says Sam.

“Bilgesnipe meat is quite commonplace, so it was no loss,” Thor replies. “They are easy to hunt because they are so quarrelsome.” He sighs, and looks off into the middle distance like he's dreaming about sinking his teeth into some bilgesnipe filet mignon.

Sam takes this moment to finish booking their connecting flight from London to Fes. “Do you miss Asgard?”

“Asgard’s not a place, it’s a people,” Thor says, but it comes out too quick and too glib, a slogan worn thin by deep space and politics. He'd said this in Geneva too, as part of a rousing speech to convince the UN to give his people a home. Sam remembers applause, remembers thinking at the time about how other refugee groups never got such a reception. 

Then again, he's not had to watch the foundations of his entire planet blown to dust.

“It's okay to mourn a place,” says Sam.

Thor shrugs. There is something heavy about the way he does so that makes Sam think of Steve, of the weight of loss on one’s shoulders. “I suppose it is.”

\---

Because someone at the hotel has foolishly informed Thor of the existence of fermented shark, they are now compelled to try some. Or rather, Thor is now compelled to try some. 

“Sorry, man, I really can't,” says Sam after his first and final bite of kæstur hákarl. 

“Another!” Thor bellows.

A sizeable crowd gathers. There are many drinks. Someone brings Sam a sandwich.

Later, after Thor and Sam have staggered back to the hotel, Sam just drunk enough to stop wondering if they will ever _not_ smell of rotting shark, Sam asks, “What do you miss most?”

Thor leans back against the headboard of his twin bed and closes his eyes. “Some days I think about the rolling hills in Garðaríki, just south of the city. We would go there in the summer and listen to the offspring of Auðumbla low in chorus at sunset. The golden sun on my back after a day’s hunting, the beautiful warm harmonies hanging in the air like the smell of grass. That was true peace, my friend.”

“Sounds pretty epic,” says Sam. “Did some of the offspring of - did some of them survive? Make it to Oklahoma on your ship?”

Thor shakes his head. “Regrettably, none came with us.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Even if they did, we would probably have eaten them along the way.”

“Hang on a minute,” says Sam, because _what the actual fuck_. 

“They were the best cows in the Nine Realms,” Thor continues dreamily. “Never was there a finer herd. Perhaps there never again will be.”

“These were cows,” Sam repeats just to be certain. “Singing cows.”

“Loki and I used to try to mimic them. Loki was always much better at it, of course.” Thor takes a deep breath, and lows experimentally. 

It's an odd sound, rumbling and resonant. Thor makes it three more times before attempting to modulate the pitch.

Sam kicks off his boots and goes to sleep on top of the covers.

 

 **MIDELT  
**   
Sam realises in Morocco that he has missed talking to birds. He likes their bright eyes and the sharp clarity of their language, the pictures and colours they speak with. For birds, there is no obscuring truth with words.

They are befriended by a Barbary falcon en route to Midelt, and it warms to Sam sufficiently that it spends part of the journey riding on his shoulder in the car; lets him stroke its feathers and tells him the sights it has seen. The ravens flew towards the dune sea, Sam learns. He sees them how the falcon sees them, inky black and striking as they cut across the desert heat. 

When they arrive in Midelt, the falcon leaves to hunt. Sam watches it go, admiring how the palette of its plumage is that of the Sahara’s: sand and light and shadow. He thinks of his time in Afghanistan and of its sand, its painfully blue skies. Of Riley. Sam and Riley must have thought themselves invincible then, Sam is sure, though he no longer quite remembers what it is like to be that young and that fearless. But they must have been. They wouldn't have put on the wings otherwise. 

Now Riley is dead and Sam has his battered body to remind him that he is only a human, that his worn knees and bum shoulder can only go so far.

“You seem troubled,” says Thor. 

Sam shakes his head. “Just thinking of an old friend I used to fly with.”

“Did your friend fall in battle?” Thor asks. 

He _knows_ , Sam realises, of course Thor knows how to read the loss on someone else’s face. “Yes,” says Sam, and he can still see it: Riley, plummeting from the sky. (With this, too, there is no obscuring truth with words.) 

\---

The ravens didn’t fly over Erg Chebbi, but instead went slightly north of it. The falcon goes ahead of them during this part of the journey, guiding them through the desert and past a small oasis. 

“They stopped around here,” Sam tells Thor a mile west of the oasis, stretching an arm out of the open car window for the falcon to land on. He shuts his eyes, sees what the falcon saw. “They circled for a while over something in the distance.”

That something, they discover, is a hidden bunker. 

“Does that look like Moroccan Armed Forces to you?” Sam asks, pointing at the two figures in yellow jumpsuits and helmets who appear to be guarding the entrance. 

“No idea,” says Thor cheerfully. 

Sam calls Natasha, who calls Maria Hill, who scrambles a response team in record time because yes, apparently Hill’s people have been searching for a secret AIM lab which has been manufacturing infinity stone-derived weapons, and Sam and Thor have now stumbled upon it.

There are rules, now, on how these things are done. Sam and Thor are free to step in, under Sokovia II, but Hill assures them the joint Moroccan Army-SHIELD team are up to the task. 

“No need to raise more questions as to why two Avengers are on the scene,” says Hill, over the satellite phone the team leader passes to Sam. “Why _are_ you on the scene?” 

“Thought we’d check out Erg Chebbi,” Sam says. “Got a little bit lost.”

Hill pauses before she speaks, and in that moment Sam can picture exactly which unamused face she is making. “Maybe next time you should get a guide.”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “We’ll think about it.” He glances over at Thor, who is in the meantime telling a bunch of Moroccan special forces and SHIELD agents the charming story of how once, in Muspelheim, he had ended a siege by first breaking down the outer gate of the rock trolls’ stronghold with his hammer and then using the first gate as a battering ram for the second gate. 

They do end up checking out Erg Chebbi. Thor has an excellent time befriending the camel he is riding. 

“I have a feeling your father’s ravens know we are looking for them,” says Sam, as they watch a bunch of tourists take turns trying out dune surfing. 

“Oh, they certainly do,” Thor replies. 

“Can’t you, I don’t know, call them to you or something?” Sam asks. “I’m assuming your father left them for you in his will, or whatever the Asgardian equivalent of a will is.”

Thor laughs. “Tell me, can one truly own a bird?”

Sam thinks of the Barbary falcon, which has left them once again to hunt. It had not promised to return. “Guess not.”

“Huginn and Muninn answered to my father, not to me,” says Thor. “My people know that I am not my father. But they would be heartened to see his ravens, all the same.”

\---

A flock of migrating wheatears report encountering two ravens flying further south. Sam makes more enquiries.

“Panthers,” he tells Thor.

 

 **BIRNIN ZANA  
**   
“So you are one who whispers with birds,” says Princess Shuri, sister of King T’Challa. 

Sam suppresses the urge to put his face in his hands. Thor was supposed to keep this quiet.

“It was not your friend who told me,” says Shuri with a laugh. “You see,” she continues, and transforms into a flock of black birds. 

“That’s a new look,” says Sam.

The flock of birds that is Shuri coalesces into one bird, a black eagle with feathers that gleam like a panther’s coat. Shuri spreads her wings and for one brief moment Sam sees what she sees: all of Wakanda, across its mountains, hills and lakes; all of Wakanda, down to the roots of its oldest memories. Then she takes off into the skies, and Sam is left stumbling in the wake of what she has shown him.

“Your sister has grown even more formidable,” says Thor.

T’Challa nods. “Much has changed since the time we marched on Thanos’ army together.” 

T’Challa’s Wakanda no longer has the privilege of careful obscurity that it once held. Now, next to news of the Asgardian resettlement and think-pieces on a post-Doom Latveria, there has been coverage on the rebel Dora Milaje who have taken over the Jabari lands, on the uprising of the group calling themselves the People against the sovereign they now call the Orphan King. And, of course, coverage on how the new Wakandan constitution will take shape.

“I've been following the news,” Sam says. 

“The news tells less than half the story,” says T’Challa. “But it suffices to say that we are now past the time for kings as rulers.” There is no trace of bitterness in his voice as he says this. Sam looks at T’Challa’s face and sees conviction instead; a king who stands with the revolution. 

“What is a king’s role, if not to rule?” asks Thor. 

“A king can represent his people,” T’Challa replies. “A king can give his people hope.” 

\---

Shuri says: “I know of a king who hid his people on the threshold of a dead star, who kept them safe while he went to battle for the universe.”

Sam has followed the olive thrush that had appeared at his window, and has let himself be led to a palace garden overlooking Birnin Zana. This is not the first time Sam has seen the Golden City by night, and it is as striking as always, glowing below them in the darkness with its lights of vibranium energy that shine softer than neon. 

“But let my brother and your friend talk of kings,” Shuri continues, “I wish to speak of heroes.” 

The olive thrush flutters to Sam and lands on his finger. It is heavier than he expected.

“I know of a boy who whispered with birds,” says Shuri, “who, when he grew up, put birds’ wings on his back and the burdens of those he loved on his shoulders.” 

“Sounds hard on the knees,” Sam says.

Shuri smiles, lets the olive thrush hop from Sam’s finger to the side of her upheld wrist. “Sounds hard on the heart.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam sticks his hands into his pockets, then remembers he's in the presence of a princess and pulls them out again, letting them rest by his sides. “I heard you almost died.”

“Yes,” says Shuri. “I went for a walk in the Djalia. Through the plane of my nation’s memory. So I am not quite the same woman who gave you a set of wings on the eve of the end of the universe.”

Sam has not walked through any transcendent planes in the intervening years, but he's not quite the same man either. Not after Thanos, not after rejoining the Avengers and rediscovering how, unlike kings, the world will probably never be past the time for heroes.

“Knees, I can help with. That comes down to engineering.” Shuri touches one of the kimoyo beads around her left wrist and brings up a projection of a set of wing schematics. “With these you will fly higher and faster, and land softer. If you are happy with the design, perhaps I will fabricate a pair for you.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” says Sam.

“You’re not asking,” Shuri replies. “I am telling you. And when you are done looking for Odin’s ravens you can tell me what colours you want your wings to be.” 

_But the heart_ , Shuri doesn't say, and Sam doesn't expect her to. It's not for her to fix. 

\---

Thor looks very bright-eyed the next morning considering that he and T’Challa had spent most of the night striding around the sitting room while energetically talking about governance. Sam, on the other hand, feels very much like he has been run over by a truck, no thanks in part to the fact that he is a light sleeper and Thor has no concept of an indoor voice.

“T’Challa and I have agreed that he will ‘take scans’ of the shards of Mjolnir,” Thor informs Sam.

“I heard,” Sam mutters into his spoonful of porridge. “Last night. Very clearly.” 

After Thor is whisked away to visit T’Challa’s lab, ziploc bag in hand, Sam goes for a run. 

He retraces the route he and Steve used to take through the gardens and towards the medical facility, back in the bad old days just after Steve had broken them out from the Raft. When Bucky had gone back to sleep and a storm had still been brewing across the universe. 

Steve had been so grimly, doggedly hopeful then, even when things had certifiably gone to shit and were about to get worse on a cosmic scale. Sam mainly remembers trying very hard not to think about whether he would ever see his family again. On reflection, all the chaos of Thanos’ arrival had restored an equilibrium of sorts - with the ninety-nine percent chance that the universe would be irrevocably destroyed, had also come a re-assembled Avengers, a Bucky Barnes woken up out of sheer desperation, and a Steve Rogers back to punching aliens in the face. Also: a Sam Wilson getting a new pair of wings. Silver linings, prayers answered in unexpected ways, et cetera. So Sam’s got this cheering thought to hold on to the next time things get bad. 

He has stopped wondering if there is another storm coming that they don’t yet know about. There’s always a storm coming. 

The birds know, now, about Sam, and some of them follow him, swooping ahead of him on the path. When he slows to a walk they come to rest tentatively on his arms, which he keeps outstretched because how could he not, now that he’s taken up this part of his life again. (There are photographs of him like this in his mother’s house, at age three and eight and thirteen and seventeen with neighbourhood pigeons and finches and sparrows on his upheld arms. Sam’s holding a conference again, his sister used to say.) 

_Valley mist waterfall plain_ , they teach him, and show him midges rising off the still lake at dawn; the frisson of energy a gyro-cruiser leaves in its wake. In return, he shows them the Barbary falcon winging its way across the dune sea and, to trills of excitement, a perfectly-executed barrel roll over Central Park. 

“Odin’s ravens have flown north,” says Shuri, when Sam returns. “But I suppose you’ve already been told.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies, and he can’t help but grin. His arms ache, and there are feathers on the sleeves of his linen shirt, maybe even a bit of fluff in his hair. 

“Look at you,” Shuri says, with a smile of her own. “You should have spoken from the start.” 

“Yeah,” says Sam. The birds have also said as much. “I should have.” 

 

 **AGIOS NIKOLAOS  
**   
“Tell me, friend, why is it you have not chosen to use your gift before?” 

Crete in January is too chilly for them to be down at the beach, but Sam has still asked for outdoor seats at the small taverna because if Odin’s ravens are going to be low-key travelling the world on vacation, Sam might as well enjoy the scenery. 

“Trust me, people get very weird about this talking to birds thing,” Sam tells Thor.

Thor gives Sam a puzzled look over his pastitsio. “My father communed with Huginn and Muninn. I think it is a noble and useful ability.”

“Yeah, well, that's you,” Sam replies. “Most people think it’s just delusion. Even my own family isn't a hundred percent convinced I can actually communicate with birds.” 

(Also in the collection of photographs of young Sam: four of his cousins looking on in horror at the gull landing on Sam’s head; Sam’s grandmother defending his slice of birthday cake from magpies; Sam teary eyed because he has to sit indoors during a barbeque while Sarah passes him a paper plate of ribs through the window.)

“So you are not in fact called the Falcon because you speak the language of birds?” says Thor.

Sam shakes his head. “They'd already named the programme when I joined it,” he says. “Just coincidence, probably.”

“Or fate,” Thor says reverently.

“Um,” says Sam, “yeah, okay.”

They return to their food, Sam wishing he had a whole other stomach so he could live the experience of eating his moussaka twice.

After several restless minutes, Thor asks, “Were you bitten by a bird as a child?”

Sam tries not to choke on a slice of eggplant. “What?”

“Did you gain your ability after being bitten - or pecked - by a bird?” asks Thor. “Because the man of spiders told me-"

“ _No_ ,” says Sam emphatically. “Do you see me asking you whether you got your powers by being struck by lightning?”

Thor scoffs. “That would be ridiculous. I was born with my powers.”

“Well, so was I,” says Sam.

Thor considers this. “I take your point,” he says. “My apologies, friend.”

“Apology accepted.”

Later, after Sam has spoken with two Eleonora’s falcons and determined that the ravens have gone north-east, he glances up to find Thor looking at him with a considering expression. 

“Is it bird poop?” Sam asks, because it would not be the first time that has happened, dammit.

“All this time with the Avengers and you never thought to use your powers,” says Thor. “Just you, in a pair of metal wings.”

“No need to sound so astonished,” Sam replies, folding his arms across his chest. “I get by.”

 

 **DOOMSTADT  
**   
Sam and Thor arrive in Latveria to find its birds in strife. They spend each day flying disoriented, crashing into windows or each other and sometimes attacking the statues that survived the Avengers’ encounter with Doom. In the evenings they congregate to quarrel viciously over trees and nesting spots. Doomstadt’s sprawling Hasengarten is filled with signs warning against bringing in metallic objects, which now seem to agitate several species. 

“It’s a nightmare,” says Rhodes as they drive along the main square of the historical district, where Steve and Tony had earlier wrestled with Doom for the controls to a device which would either suck the whole of Doomstadt into an impossibly small quantum container (according to Doom), or destroy Latveria entirely (Bruce Banner’s more persuasive theory). “The UN Environment expert said it might have something to do with Doom’s device altering the position of part of the Carpathian mountains.” 

“Ah yes, the mountains,” Thor says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “The device did not interact very well with lightning.”

“You don’t say,” replies Sam, who still remembers the heart-stopping moment in which it had seemed like the entire Latverian side of the mountain range had blinked out of existence.

Rhodes shakes his head. “I’ve had to put the War Machine suit in camouflage mode every time I fly, and the birds _still_ swarm me.” 

“When are you due back stateside?” asks Sam. 

“I was meant to leave two weeks ago,” Rhodes replies wearily. “But there’s been some confusion over where the Sokovia II mandate ends and the other UN agencies pick up, so I guess I’m supervising cleanup for a little while more.” He glances over at Sam with a wry look. “When they gave you the big ‘rejoin the Avengers’ speech did they mention this part or did they just talk about punching aliens in the face?”

Sam laughs. “Steve Rogers recruited me. There wasn't even a speech.”

\---

The birds will not speak with Sam. 

It’s not for lack of trying. Sam spends three full days in the parks and on the streets, putting out bread and trying different seed mixes. Now and then he gets close enough to a bird to do a greeting, which gets ignored.

“Patience, my friend,” says Thor, after another fruitless day. 

“Yeah,” says Sam. Patience doesn't make the rejection sting any less, though.

He does PT in the mission base gym with Rhodes, who doesn’t ask why Sam and Thor are spending so much time in parks lingering near flocks of restless pigeons. Sam guiltily returns to the exercises his physiotherapist had recommended for his shoulders and knees, while Rhodes goes through his functional training routine. But for the whirr of the Stark Industries walking exoskeleton and the regular breaks Rhodes takes to rest, it would be easy to forget about Rhode’s fall in Leipzig-Halle. 

Sam hasn't forgotten, though. During and after his time on the Raft, he’d spent months having nightmares about Rhodes falling. Even now, years later and having flown several missions together, he can't help the surge of guilt as he glances over at Rhodes carefully stretching out his lower back on one of the exercise mats.

“Looks like your shoulder’s better,” says Rhodes when he notices Sam watching him, instead of pointing out that Sam’s being awkward as hell. He's always done this, from the first time a starstruck Sam had been introduced to him at an Avengers tower party and he’d launched into a shaggy dog story just to put Sam at ease. 

“It feels better,” Sam agrees, rolling his left shoulder gently to test its range of motion. Not having to put on the wings for a while seems to have helped.

“Good,” says Rhodes, shifting into a torso stretch. “Take care of it.” 

“I will,” Sam replies. If anything, running around with super soldiers and Asgardians has made him all the more aware of the limitations of his own body. Steve Rogers gets a bullet in his gut and recovers in a week; Sam Wilson lands funny one day and goes for physiotherapy for a year.

“Maybe you've wondered why I'm still doing this,” says Rhodes, sitting up and grabbing a bottle of water, which he tosses to Sam. “After everything.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Sam agrees. “Whether you'd ever considered retiring.”

“I did resign, after Thanos. It lasted a week, then I came back the moment there was another crisis,” says Rhodes. “I couldn't sit by when I knew there was some way I could help. And yes, there are terrible days, when I feel battered and beaten and then something worse happens and I think, _more_? How much more and how much longer?” 

“I suppose you're going to say it's worth it in the end,” Sam says quietly.

“Yes, but not always,” says Rhodes. “Often it's stupid and futile and it never really ends. But I put on the suit because it’s the right thing to do.”

Sam nods. “I came to a similar conclusion about my wings.”

“But as to whether you should pick up that shield as well…”

“Ah,” says Sam. “So you've heard.”

Rhodes gives Sam another of his wry looks. “I may have participated in a discussion or two about it.”

“Going to do the speech Steve Rogers never gave me?”

“No,” says Rhodes. “I'm not planning to try to convince you. I think that's a decision you'll come to on your own. I'll just say this: think about why you put on your wings. What keeps you putting them back on again, day after day. Will taking up the shield change that?”

\---

“Is it just me,” says Thor later that evening, “or are your avian friends trying to get your attention?”

Sam steps close to the window and sees a dozen birds flapping furiously outside it. He doesn't even need to greet them.  
_  
Assemble_ , they say.

\---

“I don't understand,” says Rhodes the next morning, with the look of a man entirely unaccustomed to waking up to the sound of no birds crashing into stained glass and/or wary pedestrians. “There’s _birdsong_. A Latverian skylark landed at my window instead of flying directly into it.”

“The birds held a council last night,” Thor tells Rhodes gravely. “And they have reached a consensus on how Greater Doomstadt is to be divided among them.”

“Okay,” says Rhodes in a tone that suggests that he thinks Thor is joking but isn't quite sure what the joke is.

“Your expert was right, Colonel Rhodes,” Thor continues, “the shift in the mountains has caused them great confusion, but now they have found their bearings.”

“Don't ask me anything,” says Sam, from where he's slumped over the mess table with a cooling pack on his head. As it turns out, it is possible to get a raging headache from being telepathically shouted at all night by two dozen enraged species of bird. “Just let me die here.”

“An amusing jest!” Thor laughs a booming laugh which makes Sam’s everything hurt. “Recover your strength, and we shall proceed on our quest tomorrow!”

“Indoor voice,” Sam groans. “We talked about this.”

 

 **ODESSA  
**   
Sometimes the birds share things that other birds have seen; impressions of impressions from halfway across the globe. In Ukraine Sam learns that the ravens have been seen flying east, but he also learns other things, like how strange lights have been coming from a bunker near Lipetsk in Russia. Sam calls it in, and Maria Hill gets to take down another AIM weapons base.

“How are you finding these places?” Hill asks, when she calls Sam via satellite phone to confirm that his tip was accurate.

“I hear things,” Sam tells her, because it's a lot easier to say than, _a network of birds across the continent have been communicating information to me telepathically_. 

“Okay,” says Hill, although her tone suggests she’s convinced she'll get to the bottom of this.

Bucky also calls Sam, at four in the morning Ukraine time, but the joke's on him because Sam is already awake. Sam tells him as much.

“You're in Odessa?” says Bucky in as innocent a tone as he can muster. Sam’s almost fooled.

“Nice try,” Sam replies, putting Bucky on speakerphone and returning to his prone Y arm lifts. “What's going on?”

“Nothing much. Steve's still stoically Not Wondering when you'll be back,” says Bucky. “He almost went with the task force to Lipetsk but Hill strongly suggested Oklahoma instead.”

“Why does Hill need him in Oklahoma?” Sam finishes his last rep and moves on to rotator cuff exercises.

“Diplomacy, smoothing ruffled feathers,” Bucky tells him. “Although they’ve sent Tony Stark with him so I’m not sure how much smoothing they'll actually do.” 

Sam tries not to think about the amount of literal feathers he’s encountered since Norway. “Something happened with the Asgardian settlement?” 

“Let’s just say not everyone in Broxton, Oklahoma and is happy to have aliens move into town. Hell, even some Asgardians are getting a bit restless,” says Bucky. “Also Steve wants to know if Sakaarans do wrestling for fun or to the death because he can’t really tell.” 

“I’ll ask Thor,” Sam tells Bucky. “What do you mean by some Asgardians are getting restless?” 

\---

“Perhaps I have not been entirely forthright with you, friend,” says Thor, when Sam asks him about the settlement situation while they’re waiting for their connecting flight to Istanbul. “There is a faction of my people who are unhappy with the new settlement. They think coming to Earth was a mistake and blame me for the destruction of Asgard.”

“But they saw what Hela did,” says Sam. “They were fleeing from her before you returned to Asgard. And you protected them from Thanos.”

“Not all of them have long memories,” Thor says sadly. “It is very natural to look only upon one’s present circumstances and grumble. Odin would not have led us thus, they say. They say, we would be better off finding our fortunes in the stars.” 

“And that’s why you’re looking for his ravens?”

“If they wish to leave this place, what power have I to stop them?” Thor’s voice is calm, but Sam doesn’t fail to notice the way his hand tightens around the copy of OK! Magazine he’d picked up from a transit lounge bench earlier. “It is not treason, and they have not violated any Earth or Asgardian law. But perhaps if they see the ravens, they may be persuaded.”

Sam glances at Thor’s face and for a moment sees only sorrow in his expression. He thinks of Rhodes saying, _more? How much more and how much longer_ , and of Shuri with the olive thrush on her wrist: _sounds hard on the heart_. 

“It must be doubly hard,” Sam says, “to be both a king and a hero.” 

“Perhaps,” says Thor, looking down at his crushed magazine. He clears his throat several times. “Now, as for your question on Sakaaran wrestling, I have it on good authority that Sakaaran soldiers wrestle for fun.”

“I’ll let Bucky know,” says Sam, reaching for his phone.

“ _And_ to the death,” Thor continues. “You must understand that an insectoid Sakaaran’s outer shell is very tough, so a true Sakaaran wrestling challenge takes place over very many matches, sometimes over many years, until one day - probably when both parties are very old or very wounded - the victor finally crushes his opponent to death. It’s both very fun and very deadly.”

“The two,” Sam reads aloud as he types, “are not mutually exclusive.” 

 

 **ULAANBAATAR  
**   
They touch down in Chinggis Khaan International Airport and Sam finds his first message from Steve since he left New York: _Hi Sam, thanks for the information. Happy to report that I did not take up the Sakaarans on their offers to wrestle._

 _Good_ , Sam replies, _Not sure how long you’d hold up under repeated squashing._

Steve sends him a smiley face. And then: _I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you assuming you’d say yes._

Sam looks up; watches as Thor seizes both their suitcases off the baggage collection belt like he’s picking up a couple of sandwiches. Looks down again at his phone.

 _I’ll get back to you on my decision once I’m done helping Thor_ , he types. _Thank you for asking me._

\---

In Gorkhi-Terelj National Park, Sam stands by a great clear lake and watches a golden eagle swoop towards him.

 _Warm current cool valley prey in grass stone_ , Sam ventures. The eagle circles once, twice, then lands imperiously on a nearby rock. For a long moment it neither greets him nor speaks. 

Sam glances around and sees that they’re still alone by the lakeside. Thor has wandered off to look at some statues of dinosaurs. 

_Prey in claw,_ the eagle corrects Sam, showing him the heady plummet towards the plains, the warm twitch of a dying hare in its talons. 

Sam does not speak much because it is clear the eagle means for him to listen. It shows him Odin’s ravens, crossing over the land swifter than peregrines in pursuit of prey, silent as owls in night-time. 

Then it shows him images of images: Sam in Wakanda, birds gathered on his arms and shoulders; Sam in Latveria with the council of birds circling overhead, owls screeching from the ledges of buildings, buntings beating their wings in his face. He sees how he is to the birds, wingless and ineloquent, his fingers cool and soothing against their feathers, his skin soft under their feet. It shows him a falling star that some birds have glimpsed, spiralling and smoking as it plummets to the ground. 

Sam sees other things through the eagle’s eyes, vast plains and misty ranges that glow golden orange at sunset. He feels its fierce delight, the strength of each wingbeat as if it is his own. He races with the wind itself, feels it lift him as he cuts through the air. 

When the eagle finally leaves him Sam crouches by the water for a long while, watching his still shadow on its surface. It takes him a while to come back to himself. 

“There you are, my friend,” says Thor, even though Sam has been in the same spot the whole time. “I came across some goats, which were very charming but also ate some of my hat.” Thor holds up the remaining half of his reindeer beanie, which Vision will likely have some trouble mending. 

Sam stands up, ignoring the slight ache in his knees as he does so. He feels light, his thoughts clear and bright as if the eagle has left a bit of open sky in his mind. 

 

**VIENTIANE**

In Laos they are visited by Wong, who walks directly into their hotel room through a portal from Hong Kong. 

“Master Wong!” Thor says, flinging his arms wide and causing his bathrobe to gape open. He is wearing Incredible Hulk boxer shorts. Sam did not need to know that.

“Why is it,” says Sam to Thor, once he’s gotten over the shock of Wong’s entrance, “that we’ve spent so much time crossing the globe by plane when we could have invited Strange or Wong along to open us some portals?” 

“I have a job,” Wong says matter-of-factly, an explanation and refusal all in one.

Sam makes a sound halfway between laughter and weeping. 

“Have you come to join us on our quest?” asks Thor.

“No,” Wong replies evenly. “A ship just crash landed. We thought you might know its pilot.”

 

 **SOMEWHERE IN QINGHAI  
**   
It figures that Valkyrie would find a way to make clambering drunkenly out of a wrecked ship on the Tibetan plateau look impressive.

“Valkyrie!” Thor bellows as he strides through Wong’s portal, bathrobe billowing magnificently. “You are safely returned!”

The ship that Valkyrie has just emerged from gives a great shuddering groan and collapses further into the ground. Up close, it looks very much like a Wakandan gyro-cruiser that has been rehauled to become space-worthy, possibly by a murderous raccoon with anger issues and a somewhat limited attention span.

Valkyrie slaps a button on her space suit, causing it to retract into her backpack. She takes a few sideways steps towards them and points at Thor. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I am here to welcome you!” says Thor. “And Loki, of course. It has been long since you both went on your voyage.”

Valkyrie squints at Thor. “What do you mean ‘both went’?”

“When we departed from that station on the edge of that collapsing star, you and Loki took the other ship-" 

“ _I_ took the other ship,” says Valkyrie. “Loki went with you.”

“No, no, he went with you,” Thor insists, grinning like he thinks Valkyrie is making an amusing jest. His face falls when Valkyrie continues to stare at him. “Didn't he?”

Sam, Valkyrie and Wong proceed to spend the next ten minutes watching Thor go through the wreckage of the ship, methodically poking every candy wrapper and scrap of metal he can find. 

(“Did he just whisper ‘Loki’ to that zero gravity food processor?” Wong asks Sam in an undertone.

“I honestly don't know anymore,” Sam replies.)

At long last, Thor looks up from the wreckage and stares at them for a long time, almost as if he expects someone to produce more items for him to prod tentatively, or for Loki to pop out from behind them.

“I think,” Valkyrie says after a very long and awkward pause, “you may have left Loki behind.”

“Damn,” says Thor with feeling.

 

 **VIENTIANE (AGAIN)  
**   
“I will open you a portal to your next destination,” Wong tells them. He looks considerably more pleased now that he has ascertained that Loki is not in fact on Earth.

“How kind,” says Sam. 

Thor, still in his bathrobe, continues to sit contemplatively on Sam’s suitcase.

“You lot had better do a last sweep of the room,” says Valkyrie from the mini-fridge, where she's finished stuffing all the tiny bottles of alcohol into the Ziploc bag Sam had previously been using for his travel-sized liquids. “Wouldn't want to _leave anything behind_.”

Wong laughs.

 

 **PAHANG  
**   
“It was Loki who thought of it,” says Thor. “Hiding our people from Thanos in that manner. At the time, he didn’t tell us that his plan also involved handing over the Tesseract in hopes that Thanos wouldn’t discover where they were.”

The rain has let up somewhat since Thor had fallen to his knees in the middle of the forest and bellowed at the heavens. It seems to Sam that the outburst has done Thor some good, since he's no longer sitting heavily on things or staring off into the middle distance. 

Valkyrie, in the meantime, has occupied the largest room in the guesthouse and appears to be sleeping off the effects of making three jumps through space and surviving a crash landing. 

“Well, it worked,” says Sam. “Your people were kept safe.”

“Yes, they were,” Thor says. “But they very nearly weren't. Those of us who went on to face Thanos might have been destroyed, and Thanos would have torn the universe apart. What of Asgard’s hiding place? It is a cold death, to die in space.”

“Better than being killed outright by Thanos,” says Sam, who still jerks awake some nights from dreams of the battle on the Alkama fields in Wakanda, of fire and four-armed creatures and portals opening into terrifying dimensions.

Thor nods. “Perhaps. I didn't get to thank Loki, you know. When we left the station - after all the business with Thanos was done with and we’d gone back to retrieve our people - I thought I would see him again on Earth.”

Sam turns to look at Thor. “You think he's dead?” 

“I doubt it. He would have found some way to get off the station eventually. But I now also doubt he will ever come here.”

For a long while they sit in silence, Thor lost in thought while Sam watches rain drip off the edge of the roof. The yellow ponchos they were wearing earlier hang forlornly from hooks along the veranda.

“When you asked whether you had made a mistake,” Sam finally says, “was that about Loki?” 

“I have made many mistakes, with Loki,” Thor replies. “But no. My cry was about Asgard. One day a great ballad will be written about the crumbling of Asgard and the voyage of its people across the galaxies. I thought, perhaps, that they would sing of how we regained our strength on Midgard; how as one people we traversed the stars once more. But now that some are agitating to leave, it seems more likely we will be dust, scattered throughout the universe, and our ballad will be a ballad of yearning.”

Maybe Sam needs to revise his assessment about Thor feeling better. 

“Look, you said yourself that maybe with the ravens you might be able to persuade them,” he tells Thor.

“Indeed,” says Thor. “But the further we progress in our journey, the more it seems Huginn and Muninn are deliberately eluding us-”

They are interrupted by the sound of a door being flung open.

“If you’re worried about Asgardians buggering off to space instead of sticking it out in Oklahoma,” Valkyrie says, “your father’s birds are not going to change things.” 

They turn around to see that she has emerged from the room, clutching Sam’s previously missing ice pack to her head with one hand and holding two pillows under her other arm. 

“Have neither of you heard of something called an indoor voice?” she demands, squinting furiously at the both of them. 

“Excuse me?” asks Sam, when he’s processed this statement enough to feel offended.

Thor rises angrily to his feet. “My father’s ravens are a symbol-” 

“Our people don’t need a symbol, they need a king,” Valkyrie snaps, tossing the pillows at Thor, who bats them away. “A king who can _be_ their symbol; who doesn’t go running off looking for the ghost of his father.” 

“I am not looking for the ghost of my father,” Thor says, raising his voice. “I am looking for his ravens!”

Valkyrie throws her hands up. “What’s the difference?”

“All right, guys,” says Sam, ready to get between them if needed even though it is unlikely he will succeed in separating two Asgardians if they actually come to blows. “We can talk about this calmly-”

“Asgard is not its stupid ravens,” Valkyrie says in an even louder voice, and pokes Thor in the chest. 

“Do not _poke_ me,” says Thor. “And the ravens are not stupid-”

“Asgard,” says Valkyrie, poking him again, “is not its stupid throne. And we did not risk our lives several times over for thrones or birds-” 

“Yes, yes of course, we risked our lives for Asgard’s people!” Thor bursts out. “How could I forget? Its fractious, contrary, _ungrateful_ -” 

“Yeah, some of them are the worst,” shouts Valkyrie, “but they can’t all be bloody Heimdall, can they?”

“Of course not,” Thor bellows, “Heimdall’s the best!”

“He really is!” Valkyrie bellows back. 

“Okay guys, indoor voices _please_ ,” Sam interjects.

“They’re still Asgardians,” Valkyrie hisses. “Every last one of them, including your ridiculous, duplicitous brother-”

“Actually, he’s adopted,” says Thor. “He was originally from Jotunheim, so.”

“ _Even_ your ridiculous, duplicitous, adoptive brother who was originally from Jotunheim,” Valkyrie continues. “Even if Asgard the place is no more. Even if they abandon the settlement and leave Midgard, and even if they choose to spread themselves halfway across the bloody universe. They’re still Asgardians, and _you_ are still their king.”

At some point during the argument Valkyrie had thrown Sam’s ice pack at Thor, who has been unconsciously holding on to it since. As the fight goes out of Thor he seems to realise belatedly that his hand is freezing, and looks down in confusion at it. 

Sam quietly takes the ice pack from Thor. “Was looking for that earlier.”

“Even,” Thor finally says to Valkyrie, “if they’ve spent a thousand years drinking themselves into oblivion in a trash heap on the wrong side of the Devil’s Anus?” 

Valkyrie rolls her eyes. “Yes,” she says. “Even then.” 

\---

"I could try,” says Sam, “to leave a message for the ravens.”

“I am grateful, Son of Wil,” Thor replies. “It will be good if they can know where to find me.”

“And I take it that will be-” 

“Oklahoma,” says Thor. “Where my people are.”

Sam goes out into the forest once they've finished packing for the return journey (and Sam has retrieved most of his Ziploc bags and other belongings which have made their way into Thor and Valkyrie’s possession). He lets the broadbills and trogons examine him curiously; listens to their chattering about insects and fruits and strokes their bright feathers. The ravens have been seen in the Philippines, he learns, and also perhaps in Australia. 

_Home oklahoma thor return_ , he tells them, showing them the ship and the settlement in Oklahoma; Thor’s face when he talks of the beauty of Asgard and the kindness of its people. 

_Home_ , one of the broadbills repeats, clicking its bright blue beak at Sam, and he understands in that moment that it is asking about Sam. 

Sam starts to reply, then realises for a moment that he's not quite sure what he should show them to communicate this - not his old house in DC, surely, or the Avengers compound, or the cluttered little flat he has near the Vet Center on Chapel Street. He settles for this instead: the corridor of the VA building in the evening after his last group session. The weight of the wing pack on his shoulders. The ground tipping away from his feet as he takes to the sky. The feeling, in the middle of a firefight, when he glimpses someone from the corner of his eye - Steve or Rhodes or Natasha - and knows they’ve got his back. 

 

**TOKYO**

****“I hear you are to make a decision of your own, friend,” says Thor during their stopover in Narita.

Sam has spent the flight thinking about things that seem at once both lighter and heavier than they look - of Thor’s hammer, which no one but Thor and Vision could lift, but the shards of which have passed through several continents with no additional baggage charges. Of a shield that has always seemed to be an impossible weight to bear. 

“I think I always knew what I was going to decide,” he tells Thor. “But I didn’t want to admit it.” 

“Yes,” says Thor. “I understand.”

\------

This is how it begins: a disgruntled prince seeking to reclaim his throne launches an attack against New York City.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” says Bucky, when he gets the call from Peter’s suit AI while they’re at Sam’s place watching the series finale of Person of Interest. He turns to Sam. “Kid needs help, looks like we’re up.”

They arrive in Queens to find Namor unleashing a flood in Astoria. Peter waves at them from the top of a building, where he’s been placing people and animals that he’s managed to pluck to safety. 

“What’s the status?” asks Sam, as Bucky hits the button to disengage the secondary harness and drops off from Sam, landing on the rooftop in a crouch. 

“Er, I’m not sure what he wants, but he said he wanted to negotiate… a thing,” says Peter. Somewhere below, Wanda is using her powers to redirect some floodwaters back into the East River.

“Way to be specific, pal,” says Bucky.

“It was very noisy and I had two children and a puppy to save,” Peter replies indignantly. “He also said something about reclaiming his rightful throne, and also something about Atlanta…”

“Atlan _tis_!” Namor shouts, rising up from the waters to float towards them. “I am the rightful heir to Atlantis!”

“Are those things on his ankles… wings?” asks Bucky in an undertone. 

“They look like wings,” Sam replies, while gesturing to Peter to go rescue more people. “Tiny wings.” 

“How dare you mock me!” says Namor, charging towards them. 

Sam kicks up into the air and slams into Namor, wrestling him off the edge of the building. “Get those people to safety,” he tells Bucky on comms, punching Namor in the face mid-air with limited success. “You want to be king of Atlantis?” Sam asks, spinning away from one of Namor’s blows. __  
  
“I _am_ king!” Namor roars, speeding towards Sam, who executes a barrel roll and zips away at a sharp angle.

“What’s the king of Atlantis doing in Queens?” asks Sam, scanning the ground below to see that Wanda and Vision - who appears to have just arrived - are making progress with pushing back the flood. 

“I am here to talk terms,” says Namor haughtily, emitting a halo of bubbles which float around him in what he probably thinks is a regal manner (Sam tries not to think about whether those are coming from his pores). “With Captain America.” 

“Okay,” says Sam. 

“You will bring Captain America to me,” Namor continues, “or I will cover all the boroughs of New York City with my waters!”

“Ugh,” says Bucky over comms, “did he just say ‘ _my waters_ ’?”

“Does this mean I have _his waters_ all over my lululemon?” asks Wanda, aghast.

“Okay,” Sam tells Namor. “Talk.” 

“Are you not listening to me?” Namor snaps. “I will only negotiate with Captain America!” 

“Oh,” says Sam, “Sorry if I wasn’t clear.” He reaches for a switch on his gauntlet and feels the judder of energy down his arm as he powers up the photonic shield. “You’re talking to him.”

Namor squints at Sam, then at the red, blue and white shield on his arm, and then at Sam again. “You’re not Steve Rogers.”

“You said you wanted Captain America,” Sam tells him. “You didn’t specify which. Now do you want to negotiate, or what?” 

\---

When the news of an Asgardian exploratory contingent comes up, Sam is not surprised. They will cross the stars to see if there are other viable homes for Asgard, while sending back valuable scientific information for Earth’s benefit. For weeks the news is once again filled with images of Thor shaking hands with President Ellis, and profiles of Valkyrie and some of the other Asgardians who will be leading this exploration. It is, admittedly, a welcome break from the constant commentary on the _other_ bit of news where America is either celebrating or reeling from the appointment of Sam Wilson as Captain America, depending on who you ask. 

“President Ellis asked me if I wanted to go,” Steve says, when they gather at Sam’s flat to watch the launch. “Given that I’m semi-retired now. Thought it would be good to have a human on board an ostensibly Earth-Asgard venture.” 

“Guess you’re not going, since you’re here and not in Oklahoma right now,” says Bucky, unpacking the takeaway boxes on Sam’s coffee table. 

Steve shrugs. “I figured I’ve seen enough of space. And there’s art school to think about.” 

Peter, in the meantime, is on the outside wall of the building helping Sam adjust the position of his urban bird feeder. “I think it’s really cool that you’re doing this!” he shouts through the window. “You know, I read somewhere that the urban finch’s beak has become longer and deeper to adapt to the sunflower seeds typically on offer in bird feeders!”

“Why are you such a nerd?” Sam shouts back, ninety percent fond.

The launch is preceded by a longish ceremony in which videos of Asgardian-Oklahoma cooperation are played, and President Ellis gives an interminable speech about the future of space travel and intergalactic cooperation. Thor yields his speech time to the combined Asgardian and University of Oklahoma choir, who perform a rendition of the half-written New Ballad of Asgard. There is only a minimal amount of lowing. 

Somewhere in the midst of all these proceedings, there is a shot of Thor bidding farewell to Valkyrie and the other Asgardians. Thor beams at them warmly and gives them his blessings, and in that moment Sam sees two dark shapes appear in the sky. To President Ellis’ visible discomfort, one raven settles on Thor’s arm while the other circles slowly overhead. 

“I guess he found his birds,” says Steve. 

Sam leans back against the couch and smiles. 

 

**(a coda)**

Two years pass before Loki crash lands in Nevada. Sam hears about it from the birds before Stephen Strange steps through his portal into the Avengers compound. 

“Ready to go?” asks Strange, opening another portal.

Thor reaches just seconds after Sam and Strange appear, and he runs towards the ship to wrench open the door. 

“Couldn’t you have _checked_ to see if we were on board before you left?” Loki demands the moment he sees Thor.

“Brother, where have you been all this time?” Thor cries.

Loki gives Thor a funny look. “Making my way to Earth, of course,” he says. “We took a slight detour no thanks to you.” 

“You mean to say that you spent the past two and a half years-” 

“Two and a half years?” Loki repeats. “We’ve been gone forty-five minutes.”

“Ah, yes,” says Korg, sticking his head out of the cockpit. “I did think that there might be an issue with the time dilation, just a slight error-”

“Excuse me if my calculations vis-a-vis _navigating the perimeter of an actual wormhole_ weren’t precise enough for you,” says Loki. He turns to Thor. “You’re joking, surely.” 

“No, brother,” Thor tells him. “I am not.” 

Loki looks, for the first time, genuinely stunned. “Huh,” he says. 

Thor takes this moment of confusion to engulf Loki in a hug. “It is so good to see you, brother! Oklahoma is an excellent land. I have been focusing my efforts in training some cows to low in chorus. It is not going as well as expected, but I am learning much from the process, mainly patience-”

“I think,” Sam tells Strange, “we can probably leave them be.”

“Yes, I very much agree,” Strange says, and together they step backwards through Strange’s portal.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to write more fic from the same universe as Got Guns featuring Sam Wilson's life being hard, and also the whole reason why I started writing MCU fic in the first place was Thor Ragnarok. So this fic exists. 
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to forochel, who read through and gave amazing comments and was so enthusiastic that I could not but finish writing this. The alternative summary and the tag "odd couple buddy tragicomedy" is from them. :D


End file.
